Monday Morning Poetry Jam

Hey kiddos!

I have to say, it feels good to be back. Listen up, grab yourself some coffee or tea and some sort of breakfast pastry because we're gonna have ourselves a good time reading some of my favorite poetry.

Have your coffee and danish? Good, let's do this shit. To start, press the play button that I'm embedding immediately below this paragraph, it has some rocking mood setting music (kind of not really but I like the song so hush). Once the music is up and running, feel free to commence your tour of four selected poems and one original.



i sing of Olaf glad and big
e.e. cummings

XXX

i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or

his wellbelovéd colonel(trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but--though an host of overjoyed
noncoms(first knocking on the head
him)do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments--
Olaf(being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds,without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"

straightway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)

but--though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skilfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat--
Olaf(upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"

our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died

Christ(of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too

preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you.


Annabel Lee
Edgar Allen Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.



To Good Guys Dead
Ernest Hemingway

They sucked us in;
King and country,
Christ Almighty
And the rest.
Patriotism,
Democracy,
Honor--
Words and phrases,
They either bitched us or killed us.


i carry your heart with me
e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


Wander
Joe Battle

Deep in the heart I wander
and wonder where my love has gone.

Manic depressant and delusional
Flipping like a coin (pray for me)
Pray that I land on my side
Somewhere in the middle,
Lobotomized.

Deep down my heart, it wanders
and I wonder where you've gone.

I remember that blood, o blood on my hands
You apologized and I didn't care
He's inside you now (pray for me)
I can feel it ripping again,
I'm hateful, angry.

I feel helpless as I wander.

Poetry Monday |12| In the Valley

Through the San Joaquin
blanketed in the rain of night

Incandescent light, casting an amber glow
Way high, above the fields, on the clouds
It shows that grey quilt in all its glory

Lazy mist settles at my feet, on my head
Lowering itself like a sheet of silver to
Cover and warm the sacred Earth beneath

On my way across the plains, at night
Mighty stars and brighter disks go unseen
Even Luna herself cannot shine through

Baked in the furnace of California sun
All but ninety million miles away
Clouds of Ocean drape the sky in stead
Kindly cooling the Earth again

Poetry Monday |11| continued...

Elisha
and the Bears

Another perfect example, so pristine
Not without a hint of condoned insanity
Distressed? Disturbed?
On this point of view, thousands of years distant
No, I can't tell so clearly

Lost, your faith shaken
Your leader has forsaken
You and everything you do for Him
Outside, you feel outside
Unappreciated, remember all He's taken

Poetry Monday |10|

The Board
Survival is not an option; fear is a fading commodity.

Jest at night with my Brothers,
Untried, convicted, tortured -- together.
Survival is our one true intent.

To the plank we go, one by one.
Lie back, take the sock, whatever it is,
Ingest the simplest vitriol, water.

Stand trial like the man I once was;
Tearing misconceptions from the walls.
Every one of my Brothers is here.
Not one of us shall survive, but all.

Poetry Monday |9| Imagine the Sheer Amount of Acid

Gliding High Below Me
My soul is separate; it leads the way. Transcend the bullshit.

Where mere mortals crawl, I've come to fly.
How these silvery sheets of foam chill my skin,
Yet I cannot find a way to purify.
Why can't I forget where I've been?

Onward I glide, holding pace with time;
Nearing a boundary that should ne'er be crossed.
To the edge where the dead men lie,
Yearning to find those Li(v)es that were lost.

Outside of the presence of all Mankind,
Underneath the realm of all we can find.

Poetry Monday |8| Begin the Code

Paradox of the Just
From the dust we came, to the dust shall we return.

Justice. Achieved only in isolation, which
Even the best of our laws cannot abide.

Not without God is Justice brought;
Nor has it or will it ever been done.

In divine isolation, it must be wrought.
For in sight of man, it's prone to greed.
Even those Laws are flawed with time;
Rendering Justice unreal, merely sought.

Poetry Monday |7| My Blue

Caeruleas Mea
The one I chose, amongst many.

As the last light of day drained westward,
Westward with the masters of innovation,
I cast my unwavering sight duly North.
There and to the East, a jewel of time caught my eye.

A distant diamond in the infinite rough;
Vibrant with life of a celestial kind.

There, a million million miles, lightyears, or lifetimes
Distant; a glistening heart, gliding with grace.
Its pale glow so immense, beckoning me
Like the beacon it is, to a safer shore.

Its own shallow harbor, cast blue with its shine,
Must be a place of unimaginable wonder.

Its journey through the night, the eons, I follow.
For an infinite time it lives; apart, together,
Like night or far brighter than day.
As endless bridges of dust or orb of power.
My star is, always has, and always will be.

Christened by me on the tenth night,
My star is my guiding force. Caeruleas Mea.
A month since, I still follow her.
A month since, I still yearn to be cast, alone,
Onto her azure shores.

I yearn to follow that ever-glowing beacon,
The one that beckons me so.
So that I may be warm in her radiation;
So that I no longer feel so lost, adrift, in time.

Poetry Monday | 5 | This one's derp.

Music Vitae
There isn't a song we haven't yet sung.

How do we capture the moment when it's made of air

It slips through our fingers without resistance

I think we've lost a bit of ourselves, it seems we no longer care

It feels right when the sound of life is wrong

When the music in the room is that of your life

Forget, forget, forget.

Sometimes a song matches just right

The frequency is that of the universe around it

Sometimes it seems like we just don't give shit.

How do we know when the time is just right or wrong

To hit play or pause some other odd command

I think we've been without the music of life for too long.

If I could get it right, yes, I would dare

When the music in the room is that of your life

Forget, forget, forget it.

Poetry Monday | 4 | An Old Collaboration

The Greatest Good
co-written by my good friend Tom.

Greenery and pastures brush my leg,

grass grown with my very hands.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I learned the ways from our fathers,

who taught to me the greatest good.

It did not take long, only thirty years or so,

but in that time I have grown old.

Now, too late, I have taken up my father's ways.

Sow the seed, grow the hops,

torch the families mark on bovinian skin.

Children rhymes, playing games in the road,

turn to endless study, for a number never more than four;

then to the old ways. I'm torn apart like paper.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I rest my head on the gate,

staring across acres, growing with every generation.

A night passes, a woman passes.

Despite the laws of my fathers, I leave my bed, for another.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

Vodka pouring down, every night, a new bosom, I caress.

My father looks down and cries purple darkness,

the sun sets upon his land, looking east, I see

greenery and pastures, that brush my leg.

Here, as said by law, must be the greatest good.

What is it? What is this good?

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I look to the drink and watch the flies buzz,

drunk, the sun sets on their backs, too drunk.

What is it? What is this good?

Fire! The feild of my lover is ablaze.

I race against the river,

too late, my lover gone, I have only my love. I cannot cry.

The words of my father, "One" echo.

His law, the greatest good. One bosom at night.

The cattle go hungry this night.

The green pasture yellows, as a new acre is sprung,

grass, grown with my very hands.

Sun rises on one end of the family farm, near me, dusk.

I dig a hole in the ground and bury my troubles.

Is this it? Is this the greatest good?

The words of my father sound different today.

The cattle are dead, my pasture is brown, a last bit of light.

I pack my bags and walk away.

Against the law, I turn west, the sun no longer moves.

A dandelion catches my heel, I stare and think of

my love, my kin, my cattle, my pasture. I look back, smile,

and realize what is the greatest good.